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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25087285">Sense</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackaley/pseuds/Mackaley'>Mackaley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Romance, Sensuality, Shibari, Tactile</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:41:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25087285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackaley/pseuds/Mackaley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale felt that as beautiful as Crowley was while bound, his vulnerability, his <i>trust</i> in Aziraphale to take care of him outshone anything the angel could hope to accomplish with just his hands and a bit of rope.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Bond Zine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sense</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was my piece for the "The Bond" zine! It's a shibari-themed Good Omens zine with some absolutely beautiful works. It was my first zine and I'm honored to have been a part of it. Make sure you check out the rest of the works that have been revealed!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the feeling of the thing that Aziraphale loved the most. </p><p>The first time he held the smooth, ribbed hemp in his hands, he ran it through his fingers over and over, the slight catch of the fibers against his fingertips lighting up his senses and sending potential energy thrumming through his body. He found satisfaction in the flex of his wrists, the quick dexterity of his thick fingers as he practiced the knots first on himself and then finally applied them to Crowley. </p><p>There was a steady method as he dragged the rope over Crowley’s skin, warm and soft beneath his hands. Crowley’s lean muscle flexed and relaxed as Aziraphale manipulated his limbs into position, held still as he uttered encouraging words of praise and adoration and looped sturdy coils of rope. His nails grazed against Crowley as he sought out his pressure points and tied deft knots, securing them in place with a gentle tug.</p><p>He savored the gentle tension as Crowley slipped deeper into relaxation, his body swaying as he was supported, <i>embraced</i> by the ropes and by Aziraphale. Aziraphale would pull him close and Crowley would nuzzle against his cheek, assuring him that the bonds were tight but not constricting. Aziraphale would then press a kiss to his forehead before continuing his careful work along Crowley’s lithe frame.</p><p>When he was finished, minutes, hours later, he would sit with Crowley on the bed and offer reassuring contact, his fingers tracing the lines of the rope along the demon’s skin or brushing his hair back from his forehead. He would check in with whispers and a quick squeeze of Crowley’s hand and Crowley would hum lowly, smile, and squeeze his hand back.</p><p>Crowley would remain still. His head bowed forward or tilted back, his arms pulled behind him and aligning with his spine like a single unbroken column or clasped in front of him as if in prayer. His legs would be bent, straight, together, apart. But through it all he would remain quiet, fixed. A soul-deep meditation that Aziraphale was honored to facilitate.</p><p>They'd sit in contentment until Crowley signaled that he was ready to be untied and Aziraphale would issue the same quiet attention as he undid the ropes. He'd press featherlight kisses, trail his fingers along the rough indentations in Crowley’s skin, making note of where Crowley was most sensitive with a promise of salve to come. He would hold Crowley in his arms, long, loose limbs coming back online and sprawling lazily across the bed like molasses. Neat fingernails would scratch across Crowley’s scalp and cut gently through his satisfied fog.</p><p>And then there was the graze of Crowley’s hands curled at his neck, at his jaw. The warmth of the delicate press of his thin lips at his pulse point, the hot exhale of a whispered “<i>thank you</i>,” of “<i>you always take care of me</i>,” of “<i>I love you</i>.”</p><p>He would smile at Crowley’s own assurances and hold the demon closer, sometimes reaching a hand down to stroke slowly at his cock or circle lazily at his clit, and Crowley would shake apart in his arms. Or sometimes they didn't play further, both content to feel the comforting weight of their love’s embrace. </p><p>Aziraphale felt that as beautiful as Crowley was while bound, his vulnerability, his <i>trust</i> in Aziraphale to take care of him outshone anything the angel could hope to accomplish with just his hands and a bit of rope. As long as Crowley continued to look to him as safe harbor for his body, his soul, he could never ask anything else of the world, of God. Because truly, it was the <i>feeling</i> of the thing that Aziraphale loved the most.</p>
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